Competition
by Miruvix
Summary: To be completely fair, it started out with a fairly innocent question from Shizuku. Armwrestling is quite an interesting activity, it turns out. [Spider centric. No pairings, T for language]


**Title: **Tournament

**Author:** Miru

**Rating: **T for language

**Warning: **None, really

**Notes:** I'm afraid I might be a little out of practice with these characters, as it's been a while since I've been inspired them. Please forgive me if a little bit of my characterization might seem a little off. Then again, don't take this too seriously. It was written for laughs, mostly. And honestly? I doubt an arm-wrestling competition between these guys would work too well.

---

To be completely fair, it had started out as a fairly simple, innocent question.

"What's arm-wrestling?"

---

It started off with Franklin patiently explaining the rules and technicalities of the sport to Shizuku, but it wasn't long before the shouting came boiling up. Though the exact origin of the argument was buried beneath Uvogin and Finks' fiery shouting match, one thing was clear, and that was that the matter would not be settled very easily.

"Alright, alright!" Shalnark yelled, getting the others to pause in their shouting match with more than a little effort. "Remember, we shouldn't be fighting, and this is a trivial matter anyway—"

"It's _not_ trivial! I'm _stronger_ than him!" Uvogin and Finks snarled, pointing at each other as they shouted in almost perfect unison, proof of the Ryodan's excellent, if deadly, skills at working together, even unintentionally.

Before the two could start growling at each other again, Shalnark sighed and clapped his hands, trying to get the attention of the other members, who were beginning to place bets on which of the two muscleheads would throw the first punch. "Come on guys, this is ridiculous!" He held up a small piece of paper, a suspicious series of lines and letters written in a neat print. "Let's get this matter settled in a neat way, shall we?"

---

"Okay, the first round will be Danchou versus Pakunoda!"

As the two members took their places at the crate in the middle of the warehouse, a couple comments and questions siphoned through the air, most notably: "Why are we doing this?" from Shizuku, "Oh my, what fun," from Hisoka, and "This is dull," from Feitan.

The answers were, respectively, "Because Danchou says so," "Really, now?" and "Shut up" from Shalnark, Machi and Nobunaga. Needless to say, the air was filled with tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Kuroro's overly calm voice didn't help matters much.

"It will be an interesting way to gauge the strengths of the members." He almost sounded pleased as he placed his left arm on the crate as instructed.

"Then why do Uvogin and Finks and Franklin get to surpass the first round?" The question came from Shizuku, and was answered when all the members simply looked at the three people in question. Even Shizuku realized the implication of their comparatively bulky limbs and buffed up muscles. "…oh."

"We don't want to waste any more time than we already are," Nobunaga said dryly, his hands folded into the wide sleeves of his tunic. "Let's just skip over the obvious matches."

"That's right." Shalnark said, making sure that Pakunoda and Kuroro were in their proper positions, seated at the main crate, their right hands held together loosely, their left hands placed on the rough wooden surface.

"Danchou…" When Pakunoda spoke up, her voice sounded somewhat uncertain, the faintest traces of a nervous flush on her cheeks. "This…"

"Paku." On the other hand, Kuroro's voice was the epitome of calm, as he gave her the same, serene smile he always gave his members. "Please do your best."

She only nodded, then Shalnark released their clenched hands, giving an excited shout. "Go!"

The match was over in less than a second, as Kuroro quickly and smoothly pushed Pakunoda's hand down against the crate, their hands making a slight _fwump_ as their hit the surface.

"Danchou wins!"

---

"Y'know, this really should have been a waived match!" Nobunaga's voice was confident as he swaggered over to the center crate, scratching his chest. "But I guess I'll provide a little entertainment for the rest of you!"

The only response he got from his opponent was a silent glare, and he snorted as he took his place at the makeshift arena, Shalnark's expectant voice ringing in the warehouse. "Second round will be Nobunaga versus Feitan!"

"Thirty on Nobu."

"Fuck, I'll take that. Fifty on Feitan."

"Uvo, Finks, this isn't the time to be betting."

Fetain's silence was growing eerie as the two contestants arranged their hands accordingly, left forearm braced against the wooden surface and right hands clenched together. A large, rough, callused hand on part of Nobunaga, and an oddly pale, slender one on part of Feitan. The samurai couldn't help but sneer a bit, giving the other a crooked smile. "Seriously, now."

"Alright, start!"

There was a loud crunching noise as the center crate fairly exploded, the wood succumbing to the speed and power with which Feitan had smashed Nobunaga's hand into it. It took a moment for the samurai to realize that his arm had been twisted into a fairly painful position, the rest of his body sprawled haphazardly on the ground.

"Feitan wins!"

Releasing his grip on his shell-shocked opponent, Feitan calmly dusted off his palms before awarding Nobunaga a watery smile.

"Yes, it really should have been a waived match."

"Ha! Told you so! You owe me fifty, Uvo."

---

It took somewhere around half an hour to find another suitable crate to use as the center stage during which Shizuku forgot the point of the competition twice. Franklin, endlessly patient, explained to her twice more, as Shalnark finished setting up the crate in the exact center of the warehouse, before clapping his hands to gather the attention of the others. "Alright, then! Third match will be…" A quick glance at his memo before continuing. "Machi and Shizuku!"

Finks gave a whistle as the two set up, grinning, somewhat cheered up by his financial gain. "Cat-fight!"

"Shut up."

Before the two betters could start arguing, Shalnark started the match, released the pair of clasped hands. "And, start!"

The match proceeded as expected, the two contestants straining against each other, for all of thirty seconds before Shizuku suddenly went slack and released her grip on Machi's hand, the seamstress almost going toppling over at the sudden change in balance.

As Shalnark assessed the situation and announced Machi the winner amid confused mumbles and stares, Shizuku glibly skipped over to where Franklin was.

"Why's that called a cat-fight? Wasn't it an arm-wrestling match?"

Kuroro couldn't help but give a small sigh. So much for gauging strength.

He sighed again when Kurotopi decided to withdraw from his match. Though he didn't really say why, Hisoka's consistently creepy snickers and card shuffling left little to doubt. After all, there weren't many people who'd want to arm-wrestle with a man who kept pulling the ace of spades from his ear. Thirty eight times consecutively.

The third consecutive failed match occurred when Shalnark sat in place, ready to "duke it out" with Bonorenof, with Uvogin as the volunteer judge. Unfortunately, the match proceeded for all of ten seconds before the judge grew bored and instead turned to collecting bets from the other members. Needless to say, no one really cared about the fact that Shalnark lost only by a bit.

---

"Hmm, I guess the results were a little strange, but we should really move onto the second round, then!" As miffed as he was by being ignored, Shalnark's persistence was admirable, and he continued to act as the commentator.

There were more than a few calls of complaint that filtered through the air (most notably from Nobunaga and Hisoka, who complained about being bored), but there were silenced quickly enough by a meaningful glance from Kuroro.

"Okay! The first match of the second round will be Danchou versus Uvogin!"

There was a beast-like roar as the mentioned musclehead leapt off the crate he was sitting on, landing on the floor with a crash that shook the entire warehouse, before stomping up the crate, thirsty for a match. His hand easily dwarfed Kuroro's, and he looked more like a bear than a human as he grinned at his opponent. "Let's have a good match, huh, Danchou?"

Kuroro's smile was chillingly calm as Shalnark readied them for the start. "Yes, Uvogin."

The second crate casualty of the day was just as noisy, if slightly less destructive. The wood split neatly in half as Kuroro's hand was slammed against the weak surface, the crate falling apart with a low groan as Uvogin released Kuroro's hand, giving a hearty laugh. "Oh, sorry about that, Danchou! Couldn't control my strength!"

Putting a conveniently stolen healing ability to use, Kuroro simply glanced back at his underling, seeming pleased. "Not at all."

At least here was one person he didn't need to worry about gauging the strength of properly.

---

"Second match, Feitan versus Franklin! Go!"

There was an unexpected silence that Feitan's lazy drawl cut like a dull knife. "Shalnark."

"Yes?"

"This is impossible."

A miscalculation on Shalnark's side. He'd let out a sigh of relief after finally securing a new crate and getting Franklin to somehow squeeze himself beside it, in a cramped crouch, but now, he was faced with a rather strange new situation.

Whereas Feitan had the delicate frame of a teenager, at best, Franklin had the physique of, well…the physique of a monster. When placed in the proper arm-wrestling position, Feitan's hand barely reached halfway up the other's forearm.

"Well… this is a little awkward…"

As Shalnark scratched his head, trying to find a way to twist around the physical impossibilities of the match, Feitan shrugged and rose, giving Kuroro and Shalnark a bored glance. "Forfeit. I was getting bored, in any case."

"But—" 

"Shalnark!" Machi's cold hiss cut him off in mid-sentence, and she came stomping up to him, her eyes narrowed and catlike as she pointed at Hisoka. "I have to go against _him_?"

Most of the members looked over to the infamous number four, who had his eyes trained on Machi, shuffling a deck of cards in his hands and smiling. A large majority of them shivered when he pulled out the Queen of Hearts and showed it to her, before blowing her a kiss. Machi dodged it before jabbing Shalnark in the chest with a finger. "I forfeit."

Somewhere at the other side of the warehouse, Finks, who'd been growing bored by the technical talk, beat Bono in an unjudged, unmonitored match, and let out a loud whoop, followed closely by Uvo's "You took that long? I coulda done it in ten seconds!"

As the umpteenth shouting match broke out between the two, Kuroro sighed for the fourth time that day, which was exactly four times more than he'd had to do so for the past two months. Clearly, arm wrestling was not exactly the best way to gauge the members' strength, unless this 'strength' depended on inability to be focused and volume of voice. He sighed for the fifth time, almost silently, as the third round started off without Shalnark, who had been somewhat subdued and irritated by the fact that the other members were constantly ignoring him.

---

"Draw two."

"Dammit."

"…I don't have a good card."

"Awww, neither do I."

"My turn."

"Dammit, Feitan, how the fuck did you get such a good hand?"

"Stop whining and play already."

"Oh, yay, this one works!"

"No, Shizuku, you need to play a diamond, that's a heart."

"Oh…why?"

"Damn it, will you pay attention to the match?" Finks let out an irritated snarl as he finally pinned down Hisoka's hand onto the crate, a vein throbbing near his forehead as he glared at the other members. "You're supposed to watch!"

"You're the one who took thirty fucking minutes for a single game of arm wrestling."

"I just—"

"I'll join." Hisoka smoothly bulldozed over Finks' furious protest and scaled the haphazard pile of crates to where the other members sat playing cards. (Feitan gave him a lazy glance, Shizuku and Shalnark blinked at him, Machi inched away just a bit.) And, of course, added to the small betting pool centered around the probable winner of the card game.

"Ha! Ignored!" Uvogin shoved aside his fellow competition-enthusiast and puffed out his chest, yelling loudly enough to make some of the crates crack. "Come on, Franklin! You and me, this time!"

"Draw three."

"…Tch."

"Haha, not doing so well now, Feitan!"

"FRANKLIN!"

The behemoth in question, cards dwarfed by his huge hands, only gave the arm-wrestling enthusiast a careless wave over his shoulder. "Forfeit. You two go ahead and have your competition."

---

A total of thirteen crates, one of them super-sized, were broken during the final match, including the one that the other members had been using to play cards on. It took sixty four minutes, thirty nine seconds one-oh for the match to end, and it ended only because there were no more crates sturdy enough to use as the table for arm-wrestling on.

As Shalnark tried to figure out the technicalities behind the match and decide a winner based on who had splintered more wood, the other members decided to be more productive and stole replacement crates from a passing truck.


End file.
